Whitelighters
by vjs2259
Summary: Crossover; Doctor Who (post Angels of Manhattan), Charmed (pre-series). A Whitelighter recruits a good man, and learns a lesson in love.


The young man with the old eyes walked up the flagstone path towards the small one-story bungalow. He wore nondescript clothing; jeans, a flannel shirt over a white t-shirt, a worn khaki barn jacket. The yard showed the remnants of loving care, mulched beds of rose bushes studded with buds interspersed with white and pink peonies, their half-blown blossoms bent to the ground by the recent rain. The grass was shaggy, and Leo noted a push mower tucked under an eave. His hands itched to sharpen the blades and trim the untidy lawn.

As he approached the entrance to the house, he heard the creak of a screen door coming from the back of the house. The tap of a cane on stone alerted him to one of the occupants walking away from the house, slowly and carefully, into the depths of the backyard. He didn't stop to knock, instead a glimmer of white light shown around him briefly, then he was inside.

Leo paused in the dim hallway. The smell was that of age; aged cooking, aged floor wax, aged sunlight. A rag rug made from strips of cloth ran the length of the hall. Leo moved swiftly to the doorway on the right, which led to the front bedroom. He hoped he could get in and out without alerting the lady of the house. He didn't want to get bogged down in too many explanations.

Opening the door, he walked into the room. A double bed was pushed up against one wall, and an elderly man dozed in it, propped up against a wall of pillows, and covered by a quilt made of brightly colored squares.

"Mr. Williams?" Leo spoke softly, keeping a respectful distance from the older man, not wanting to startle him anymore than he had to.

"Eh?" came the querulous voice from the depths of the pillows. "Who's there? Amy, is that you?"

"No, Rory, it's not Amy." Leo sat down on the edge of the bed and passed his hand over the other man's eyes. He watched as the filmy orbs opened wide for a moment, showing a glint of alarm. "My name is Leo Wyatt, and I'm here to help you."

"Who are you? Another doctor?" Rory shook his head. "Amy's always bringing in another doctor. It won't make any difference. I've lived a long life." Here he laughed softly. "A very long life. This is just the end of one of them." Rory struggled somewhat more upright, and then paused to cough. His breath was rough and rapid, and Leo put one hand on Rory's chest. As Rory watched with startled eyes, Leo's hand began to glow, lightly at first, then bright as the yellow sunshine painting the floor under the window. Rory's breath regularized, and he pulled in one deep draught of the cool spring air, smiling as he did so. "That's wonderful. Just a clear breath. Who would have thought it would feel so good?"

"It's only temporary," Leo said gently. "There's only so much I can do." He added, "I'm actually here to make you an offer."

A wheezing laugh shook Rory's bowed shoulders. "An offer, is it? Selling vacuum cleaners to pay your way through medical school? Encyclopedias? I'm afraid I've not much use for either."

"Not exactly," said Leo, a wide smile splitting his face at the idea. Then he added gently, "You're not going to make it through this. And the people I work for thought you might want to consider another option."

"Another option?" asked Rory, puzzled. He sighed, and his head dropped back against the pillows. "I know I'm dying," he said simply. "It's not like I haven't been here before. I don't fear death. I just hate..." here he looked at the doorway, head cocked as if listening for a faraway step. He swallowed hard, and his voice wavered. "I hate leaving her."

"Your wife?" asked Leo, his voice soft with sympathy. "This is not her time."

Rory laughed again, so hard he could barely speak, "You have no idea!" Sobering, he looked at Leo and asked, "Who _are_ you?"

"That's difficult to explain," said Leo, his forehead furrowing in concentration. "I, and others like me, try to help those who are a force for good in the world. We watch over them, help them out. Guide them, even fight for them."

The wrinkles on Rory's face deepened as he considered the young man seated on the edge of his bed. "Forces for good, eh? Sounds familiar. Protecting them sounds like a good life. But I'm not much use at this point. I'm dying, remember? I can't even walk, much less fight."

Leo patted the thin hand, marked with knotted veins, which was clutching the edge of the quilt. "The Elders will give you another chance at life. You would be younger afterward; that's within their power." He nodded in emphasis. "You've always cared for people. It was your job before. It can be your job again."

"Your job, too, wasn't it?" Rory said quietly. "You have the touch."

"I was a medic in the army once." Leo smiled faintly. "But I'm a Whitelighter now. It's similar work in a lot of ways."

"I'm done with armies, even armies for good causes." Rory cocked his head, listening. "Amy's almost finished with her walk round the garden."

"I'd best be going then," said Leo. "I'll be back when it's time. You can give me your answer then."

"If I go with you, when I die...can I come back, see Amy, our son?" Rory's voice was fainter now, and Leo strained to hear him.

"It's not generally advised to visit loved ones. Whitelighters cut their ties with the past." Leo couldn't keep a hint of sadness from his voice.

"Did you?" asked Rory. "Leave everything behind?"

"I went back once, just to let my wife know it was all right for her to move on with her life." He shook his head at Rory's expression of concern. "Lillian was still young. We hadn't been married long, and there were no children. She didn't need need me to watch over her."

"I like the idea of coming back to care for people. It's all I ever wanted to do." Rory leaned back against the pillows. "You've got it wrong, though, about us. I don't watch over Amy. We watch over each other." His voice cracked with strain, "I don't want to leave her. We've had a good life here, but it's not enough. I need to know I'll be with her again."

"When it's her time, you can relinquish your Whitelighter responsibilities and move on with her," Leo leaned over and adjusted the pillows as he reassured the older man.

Rory smiled, as a beam of light from the half-open window touched his weary face. "That's all right then. I can wait. I'm good at waiting."

Leo rose and took Rory's hand between his own, a slight glow emanating from the palms. "This will help your breathing for a while longer, but it won't stop what's underway."

"You'd better go," said Rory, nodding towards the door. "I hear Amy coming." He pressed Leo's hand lightly. "It was nice to meet you, Leo. I'll see you soon."

Brilliant white sparkling lights surrounded Leo's form, turning the inside of the room as bright as the clear sunlit day outside. As he rose to the sky, he saw an elderly woman enter the room, sit down in the same spot on the bed he'd just vacated, lean over and kiss the elderly man. He could almost feel the warmth between the two, like a fire burnt down to glowing embers. He'd never had the chance for anything like that with Lillian. And he never would as a Whitelighter. He'd renounced all earthly ties in favor of the work. It was important work, and he couldn't imagine giving it up. Still, the look between the two mortals remained with him for a long time. It would be something, to love someone that much.


End file.
